


I'm Not The Way You Think I Am

by rosiedoesfic



Series: Moving Pictures [4]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-28 04:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18749185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosiedoesfic/pseuds/rosiedoesfic
Summary: Companion piece to the chaptered workThe World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman To Stop Being A Pussy And Start Going For What He Wants).There are two sides to every story.Contains spoilers for all parts of TWNW, up to and including chapter 25.





	I'm Not The Way You Think I Am

**Author's Note:**

> **Contains spoilers for all parts of TWNW, up to and including chapter 25.**
> 
> I recommend you read TWNW up to and including [chapter 25](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7449241/chapters/44476441) before continuing, for the greatest impact from the main work.
> 
> My wonderful beta, Heyginger, created this lovely [Spotify playlist](https://hey-ginger.tumblr.com/post/184721313527/we-dont-belong-a-fanmix-for-moving-pictures-4), _We Don't Belong_ , to accompany this piece - check it out!
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://hey-ginger.tumblr.com/post/184721313527/we-dont-belong-a-fanmix-for-moving-pictures-4)  
>    
> 

**I'm Not The Way You Think I Am  
** _Am I just losing myself in this hell?_

  
To be honest, Patrick wasn't sure if it was the bitter January wind making him feel cold to the core, or if it was the fear of what was about to happen. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and then pushed the thin pocket lining inside the pockets of the hoodie underneath.

_I don't wanna do this._

Pete's arm had been heavy around his shoulders, in the booth, pulling him tight and close to murmur in his ear when Andy left them to find the restroom. _"Now's your chance, dude, c'mon - show him what he's missing, kind of, break the seal on the lady jar, or whatever… It makes sense, you know it does. She's pretty - she's_ way _into you - you're not gonna get a better chance than this… It's time put on your big girl panties and grow up into the rockstar stud you deserve to be, Cookie."_

Pete had been talking about this ever since he brought it up, after a night in the kitchen talking to Joe about writing and wondering if they'd be expected to do this, now that they weren't together anymore. And maybe it had been a mistake to ask Pete what the terms of the arrangement were, afterwards, because maybe if he hadn't said anything Pete wouldn't have thought about it so much. It had become a kind of fixation for him, though, an idea that it would be a distraction from the sadness and the yearning and 'humiliating' himself because he couldn't let go.

 _"Look, dude, I talked with him and you can't shoot the messenger, okay, but he just feels a little kind of…"_ He'd looked up at Patrick furtively, cross legged on Pete's bed, his eyebrows pinched in concern. _"Smothered. I mean, he broke up with you so he could get some space and everything, but you're just, like… begging for him to pretend you're still together and to let you suck him off, or whatever. It's awkward. You've_ gotta _back off, if you ever want to fix shit. Right now, it just looks kind of lame and annoying…"_

It had confused him, at first, because at the time, Joe had seemed willing - willing to help him with his family situation and willing to make the first move in Patrick's old bed - but the more he thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. The more humiliated he felt. The more everything Pete was telling him rang true.

And he felt kind of sick, by the time he pulled open the door to find Joe laying inside the van, curled around Patrick's own bag, because this was it. This was finding out for once and for all if there was any hope for them at all. He almost bailed. Because fuck Pete's dumb ideas, he could make it up to them some other way. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to know. He didn't want any of it, anymore. All he wanted was for Doc Brown to show up and take him back to last summer, so he could say to Pete the thing he _never_ really said to Pete, because whatever Joe said, he still felt certain, deep down, that choosing to room with him had been the butterfly whose wings had ruined everything.

He didn't know what to say to Joe, now that he was here, so he just stared, frozen, until Joe moved for him to climb inside. Even though he was sitting, calves squished under him on the old blankets, it felt as though someone was standing on his chest, now.

"I didn't mean to be rude to that girl… it just, like, came out..." Joe mumbled, without so much as a 'hey' and there were creases from the bag and his earphone cable on his cheek, his hair tousled at the side.

Patrick shrugged, partly to help his chest expand enough to take in a breath. "I know." Of course he knew. He knew Joe. He knew he was upset at the idea that someone else might want his attention, and that was the frustrating thing - it made him mad, but he didn't want Patrick himself. Because Patrick was 'smothering' him. While the only thing that Patrick truly wanted, was to have Joe back. He couldn't sleep. He was getting like Pete - up all night, restless - unable to lay on the left side of the bed, or in the middle, because it felt too cold where Joe wasn't, anymore. Even sleeping _hurt_ , now, and it was his own fault that Joe was mad at him. He'd been so stupid, but it was so hard to explain why, when Pete needed him, it wasn't really Patrick's decision to be there or not be there, anymore. He wasn't sure it ever really had been. Joe would always be okay on his own and Patrick knew that, but he couldn't say the same for Pete.

Pete frightened him. Almost in the same way that the oiled glass vase his mom loved terrified him - if he handled it wrong, one day it'd break, and it wouldn't be something he could fix. Nobody could. So, sometimes, he had to put Pete first because Joe would bounce and Pete wouldn't, and New Year's Eve had been one of those times. But God, how he wished he'd not messed things up. He'd felt so close to making things better - for that one week, between Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve - he'd felt things starting to weave back together, slowly, but here they were again. Joe had pulled away, but he wouldn't let go, and Patrick was tired. He was so tired of hoping and being disappointed and of Pete calling it before Patrick could even get over the happiness of little exchanges, or Joe smiling at him like he used to, and then something else would change and he'd be pushed away again.

And he'd come to the van to see - just to see - if Joe would give him a reason not to do this. To see if he really mattered, to prove Pete wrong, or whether what was really driving this mess was Joe's fear of change and Patrick's own need to cling on to things, even after they'd broken. Like his old Ghostbusters car that had been nothing but a shell when his mother finally took it and threw it away.

"I can't be your boyfriend, right now," Joe said, like the words were scratching at his throat on their way out, and the invisible man standing on Patrick's chest had jumped his hardest, pounding with both feet while Patrick tried to reason with him so that he wouldn't choke up.

_You're begging again, you're doing exactly what Pete said he hates._

But Joe was fucking smart and Joe _had to_ see, in some small way, how much this was hurting him. How confusing it was to be told 'no' while Joe wouldn't let him go and tried to frighten off anyone else who might, even for a moment, have been a little interested in him, and while he still let Patrick hold his hand like this. But for all his promises of devotion - how he didn't want anyone else, didn't want to make Patrick unhappy - he couldn't say the one thing he needed to hear.

Sitting there, on old blankets in the back of Andy's van, he willed him to say it - imagined it like overdubbing while Joe's mouth formed other words - but he didn't. Or he couldn't. And maybe it wasn't true, anymore; maybe wanting to keep Patrick to himself was just habit for Joe, and he couldn't say he loved him because he just didn't anymore.

It was almost like a fern of realisation unfurling in his stomach - there _wasn't_ anything stopping him, not really, and he was beginning to feel desperate for a way out of this whole charade.

What started as an obligation began to solidify into resistance. Maybe Pete was fucking right about this. Maybe it was down to Patrick to change the stakes.

\---

It was a really long time since Patrick had thought about girls with any kind of intent. Of course he'd seen girls in the street, or on TV, or at shows and thought, "Well, she's pretty…" But he hadn't been in a position to care. He'd had a boyfriend - one he was serious about - he hadn't even wanted to look at anyone else and in truth, he still didn't want to. Joe was a beautiful, funny, fatalistic, wide-eyed klutz with no idea how hot he was and it had made Patrick want to show him, constantly. To show him _and_ to make sure Joe felt similarly. He'd grown out his sideburns a little so that he was noticeably adult, afraid that in time Joe might grow embarrassed by a boyfriend who looked like he was barely out of middle school. It was a hard habit to break, worrying about what Joe thought. But when the girls they'd met before showed up in the venue bar, and the one Pete insisted was into him was wearing a body-hugging, black t-shirt dress that made him hope she wouldn't drop her purse, he tried really hard to find something about it appealing.

All he could really think, though, was that he would have bet she was freezing on the way to the club, even if the distance was as short as she said. Hypothermia hardly got his motor running.

She was pretty, though - smaller than him, with big eyes and a cute button nose, and her hair was dark and silky around her shoulders, now that it wasn't braided away. And as they talked, she touched his arm or leaned into him as she laughed at his jokes, while her friend propped herself against the column beside Pete, watching the whole thing with a dry smirk on her glossy, scarlet lips. He was warming to her, as the night went on, even if not the idea of what he was supposed to try to do. He kept finding himself talking, not really sure where he was leading, but her eyes were fixed on him and her smile was warm and engaging and she encouraged his jibbering with questions that might have been relevant if he'd known what he was trying to say. Maybe he could have really liked her - if she lived back home, maybe, where he could have gotten to know her first and they'd met in other circumstances…

But as things were, he could feel Joe's presence across the room, tucked into a lonely corner, slumped into himself miserably. There was a heaviness about it, like mud sucking at Patrick's ankles, refusing to let go.

_Maybe I should go over there… Maybe if I gave him one more chance…_

Pete had caught his arm, though, when the girls went to the restroom and he'd slid his plastic cup of Sprite onto the bar. "Where are you going, Romeo?"

Involuntarily, Patrick's eyes flicked across to where Joe was slumped, gazing into the middle distance, vacantly, fingers tight in his hair where his head rested on his hand, and naturally Pete had caught it, huffing at him in exasperation.

" _Dude_ ! What's wrong with you? Let him sulk. You gave him a chance to take you back, right? And he didn't fucking want it, so _let him_ feel shitty because you're gonna get laid! Maybe he needs to get a little jealous, or whatever, because he's not gonna appreciate you while he knows he can act out and you'll come running. Don't be weak, Cookie, c'mon."

And Patrick had sighed and nodded, picking up his cup and taking a sip just so he didn't have to watch Pete watching him, pityingly.

"You deserve better than this bullshit," Pete's voice said, softly, close to his ear as his arm wrapped around Patrick's neck and his belt buckle dug into the tender skin under his t-shirt. "I know you think you just want him back, kind of, but I've watched you fucking _cry_ because he's hurting you and I'm totally there for you, or whatever, but if you won't help yourself, what am I gonna do to help? If you won't accept my advice, as someone who's been there a bunch of times already, like, what's the point in us talking about it, kind of?"

Pete gazed at him expectantly, with hazel eyes wide and pleading, and Patrick almost said no, and that he hadn't been _crying_ , actually - he almost said, _But I love him, Pete, and he promised me another chance so I'll take this mess if it's all I've got -_ but then the girls were back, and Amber's arm slid around his waist and he knew, in the pit of his stomach that he was going to do this, if his body would let him.

When it was time for them to take to the stage, she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek for good luck, leaving a delicate sticky smudge and fire in her wake. He rubbed at it with his wristband as soon as he was out of her eyeline, afraid that Joe would see and then he'd never forgive him, and jerked away when it seemed - just for a second - that Joe was reaching out for his wrist, like he really had seen the whole thing and was grasping for the evidence that would condemn him.

And when they got off stage, Joe was just gone, instantly, but Amber was there, with arms wide to hug him, even though he'd sweated through his t-shirt and his hair was plastered to his face at the temples. So he let her, grateful for the human contact after a set where Joe had refused to even look at him, and she'd caught his hand and held it tight, stroking at his thumb with hers. Maybe it was the adrenaline blurring with the anxiety of obligation, or Pete's words getting inside his head like Pete's words always seemed to - starting out infuriating but slowly becoming a new version of the truth that he hadn't wanted to consider - but he was starting to believe he could do this. He bought her a drink and huddled into a corner with her, the soft curve of her hip feeling alien against him when they pressed together in the crowd. It was in the wrong place - Joe was taller, his hips not bony like Pete's, but not as full as Amber's - and her hair smelled edibly sweet like candy, instead of Head & Shoulders.

When she beckoned to him to lean closer, he thought it was because of the noise from the headliners, the levels all wrong so that all his acutely tuned ear could make out was the drum line, and his breath almost choked him when she tilted her chin and kissed him. Her hand was on his shirt, bunching the shoulder in her grasp, and her lips were soft and no longer tacky to the touch from her lipgloss. It coursed a ripple up his spine - as much horror as excitement - but he took an uncomfortable, shuddering breath and kissed back, automatically making the little moves he'd learned Joe liked because he didn't know much else.

"Yo-ho-ho, Stumpy, my man!" Pete's voice crowed as a hand clamped down on his shoulder, interrupting and causing him to break away with a gasp, like he'd been caught doing something wrong.

"What?" he snapped, burning with embarrassment at the back of his neck, looking around furtively to check whether Joe had seen. But Joe wasn't there.

"I'm super happy for you guys, or whatever, but we can't have The Ladies thinking you're off the market or anything, right?" He winked at Amber suggestively, and she giggled, confused. "I mean, _you_ know, right Amber? The only reason anyone comes to see this band is because they're kind of in love with this guy, right?"

She was smiling coyly, now, twisting her body from side to side in tiny, coquettish shifts as she looked between them under her lashes and nodded.

"So, why don't you guys head back to your place, or whatever, and we'll pack up our crap when this band is done, and follow you with the van, huh?"

"Wait, are we -?" he started, because he hadn't even asked that, yet.

"Sure! Kat already said we could…"

"Oh."

"Yeah, soooo… you walk your date home, and we'll come meet up with you -" he gave Amber an exaggerated wink, "in like, an hour or something?"

"Well, sure, we can do that," she nodded, and her soft cheeks were rosy and plumped into a smile. "I'll just get my coat."

"Cool, cool," Pete said, watching her hand trailing down Patrick's forearm to catch his hand as she left, and then turned his attention back to Patrick. "You good?"

"I… I feel kind of gross from the show, Pete, I…"

"She obviously doesn't care, man, she just had her tongue down your throat! Have a tour shower in her bathroom when you get there. Wet wipes, Axe, change your shirt. And don't forget _this_." He pulled something from his pocket and shoved it into Patrick's hand with a firm pat on the shoulder. Patrick could feel what it was, but he couldn't bring himself to look at it. "We don't want any accidents."

\---

Patrick did as he was told, when he got to the house Amber shared with Kat and their friends. She led him upstairs and he kept his eyes deliberately low, trying to preserve her modesty, although he had a feeling he was more concerned about that than she was, and then he asked to use the bathroom.

"Sure, it's here," she said, pushing open a door. "And my room's at the end of the hall, here - just… come right in."

For a few moments, he sat himself on the edge of the bath, took off his glasses and cap and rubbed at his face, pressing fingers against his eyelids as he used to when he woke up from a bad dream, when he was small. He wondered where Joe was, if he'd noticed that Patrick was gone, yet; if he cared. He also wondered why he was still doing this, tonight, when they already had a place to stay. Maybe he could get away without it. Maybe if he just gentlemanned out of the whole situation, then…

_Then what, man? The others find out you bailed? Can't you imagine how lame you'll look?  They've been doing this for you for years, and now it's your turn and you're too much of a wuss to go through with it? Really? And that's before you even try to explain to Amber that it isn't her fault… You're almost nineteen fucking years old, Patrick, get a goddamn grip!_

He took a slow, deep breath and before he knew it, he was pulling his wet wipes and deodorant out of his bag.

By the time he knocked on the door to Amber's room, he'd calmed himself down a little. It was nothing. It meant _nothing_ and Pete and Chris and Andy had shown him that over and over. The girls were into it, the guys were into it, everyone knew the score. If he couldn't do this at eighteen, when he was supposed to be young and irresponsible, when could he?

She was sitting on the bed, curled up in a corner with one elbow on the headboard and her tiny, slip-on shoes toed off, on the floor, haphazardly. _Joe would hate that._ But Joe wasn't there. It wasn't about Joe (except that it was).

The room was dimly lit by a little, purple table lamp sitting on the dresser beside the bed, and some kind of candle on the windowsill, which gave the room a heady scent, like church on Christmas when his grandma took him for carols.

"Hey," she said, softly, her fingers twisting at a strand of hair, and the top two buttons on her dress were open, now. They hadn't been, earlier, because he'd noticed the middle one pulling against the fabric. "Are you okay?"

"Um. Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, I just wanted to freshen up, I guess… stage lights and travelling and everything, y'know?"

"Oh, it's fine, I don't mind… Do you wanna…?" She patted the black and floral duvet cover on the free side of the bed, hopefully.

"Uh, yeah, I mean… Yes. Sure, let's… sit."

God, this was terrible. He was terrible at this. He didn't belong here, in some girl's room full of philosophical postcards and Polaroids of her friends, trying to act cool while he did something terrifying - he was just an awkward band nerd who wanted to win his boyfriend back and he was second guessing Pete's methods.

But he'd still dropped his bag and was tugging at the laces on his tennis shoes, dumping his wallet and keys on the dresser beside the bed, so they didn't dig into his ass when he sat down. And he placed himself beside her stiffly, the bed creaking noisily under his careful weight, wishing he'd worn newer socks, arms loosely wrapped across his own belly while she gazed at the side of his face.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, after a moment, one hand reaching out to rub at the deep pink smudge on the fabric of his wristband.

He nodded dumbly, scratching under his hat. This was where she caught him out, he was sure of it, and he almost couldn't wait - hoping for a reason to abort this complete mess.

"So… I'm sorry if this is a kind of rude question, but… I wanted to ask…"

_I'm not, but for the amount of time I spent with girls, I may as well be..._

"Is Joe kind of okay?"

He blinked at her, surprised that she hadn't asked what he'd automatically assumed. " _Joe_?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked up him guiltily. Like she felt bad for asking after his well-being. "It's just that earlier, he seemed kind of in another world… and then tonight he kind of sat out of everything…"

"Oh, um… Honestly, I'm not sure what's going on with Joe, right now." _And I really wish I was…_ "He's just… having a tough time, I guess. I probably shouldn't get into it."

"Oh… No, I guess not." But she pressed on, regardless. "It's just… I hope he's okay and everything…"

Patrick nodded, tight lipped. "Yeah, me too." There was a little splinter of worry in his chest, because what if Joe wasn't okay? Sure, he was stressed about college and work, and nearly everything else, but what if he wasn't really okay-okay?

"I don't wanna sound sort of… out of line, or anything, but does he always find it icky that girls like him? Or was that because he's a little… _off_ , today?"

Patrick cleared his throat, awkwardly, and adjusted his glasses to figure out what to say, but Amber got there quicker.

She laughed a little, self-consciously and blurted: "I guess I'm asking if he's just… not totally… into girls?"

Patrick's heart dropped into his stomach. What the fuck would Joe want him to do? Lie about it? Out him? Make some shit up? Joe was extremely tetchy about his identity and his privacy, what the fuck was he supposed to do? If they were still dating, then he'd at least feel like he had some kind of stake in the situation, but they weren't, anymore, and if they had been, Patrick wouldn't even be here.

When he didn't reply, she backtracked, hurriedly. "It's okay if that's the reason he got weird about my cousin, and everything, because I kind of got that sense from him, either way, but I just… I wondered."

"No, that's… I mean, I get it. It's fine, y'know, but I didn't totally expect we'd be talking about Joe when we came here…"

_Oh, yeah. Yeah, that's way better. 'I didn't come here to talk about my not-boyfriend, actually, I came here to sleep with you so I could make him realise he misses me.' This is pathetic._

Amber smiled at him, though, and shuffled herself closer, so he could smell the sweet vanilla of her perfume. "No, you're right," she said, reaching up to turn his face towards her delicately, a little, sweet smile on her lips.

He closed his eyes and swallowed, feeling his heart thumping in his chest, trying to envision his next move - how he was supposed to initiate this - because he and Joe had learned everything together and his only 'experience' with girls came from listening to Pete and Andy's sordid tales with his nose scrunched, in the back of the van. And kissing princess Leia when he was in kindergarten.

His closed eyes were seemingly invitation enough, because he opened them at the squeak of movement beside him, and she was kneeling, one hand sliding around his cheek as she leaned closer. And okay, if she wanted to do this, then he'd let her initiate it, because at least then he wasn't entirely taking advantage of the hospitality, but at the back of his mind he imagined that the bangs brushing his eyebrow were unruly curls and not smooth, straight fronds; that the hand on his chest and the one taking off his hat were a little larger and not so carefully painted. He could feel the first small ripples of enthusiasm and tension cascading down into his stomach.

Maybe he could do this, if he just kept calm and pretended, but she was climbing into his lap and pulling his hand onto her bare thigh where her skirt had hitched up and all he could think was that usually this was his role - climbing into Joe's lap to distract him from studying or shut him up from talking endlessly about _The Lord of the Rings_ \- and his heart rate was racing up but not in the good way because he could feel himself sweating and he still _didn't want to do this_ \- but she was trying to slide her hand under his shirt and he panicked.

His elbow hit the dresser as he jerked back from the touch, his head smacked against the wooden headboard and he was already apologising as things slipped off the side and she giggled and ducked back in, murmuring, "It's okay - it's okay."

"No -" he tugged at her hands, gently, and leaned away a little. "No, it's - it's kind of not okay. I'm really sorry, I… I shouldn't be doing this, and…" He cringed at himself, at how feeble he sounded, and looked up at her worriedly, expecting to see hurt or anger on her face, but she just looked concerned. "It's not you, I promise it's not you, y'know, it's… God, I can't even tell you, but it's not you. You're a really, really pretty girl and everything, and I'm sure any other guy at the show tonight would be so, so happy to be in this position, but I can't." She was looking down to the side, now, frowning slightly but still sitting in his lap. "Could you maybe…?" He gestured to the mattress, hoping she'd climb off and then he could get his things and apologise some more and maybe leave, but she just blinked a few times and tucked her hair behind her ear.

He looked where she had been staring, nervously, wondering what could possibly have distracted her in a moment like this. And there, on the floor a few feet from the bed, was his wallet. The nylon fabric folds and weathered velcro splayed open to the plastic window.

"Oh…"

Without saying anything, she finally climbed off of his lap, and the bed, hopping a little unsteadily to keep her balance as she reached down to pick it up and get a better look at the picture inside. She tugged at the hem of her dress awkwardly, as she studied it, rubbing at the plastic over the little photo of Joe with his bleached blond crop; it was the same one he'd shown Lizzie when they were kids and he had a crush him, because he'd never taken it out, not even after what happened. He'd just kept hoping like an idiot.

Carefully, she folded it back together and held it out to him with a small, sympathetic smile. "I guess that makes a lot more sense."

"I'm sorry," he told her, taking it and starting to get to his feet, "I should leave - I shouldn't - but it's not you. And I'm not… I mean, I do like girls, y'know? It's not that I'm not…"

"But if you're dating Joe, then why would you -?"

"We're not. We're not dating…" he started, picking at the unravelling thread holding the wallet together. "Not anymore."

"Why 'not anymore'?" she asked, sinking down sit on the edge of the bed and pulling at his fingers until he sat back down beside her.

Patrick gave a small, dry laugh, because he wished he fucking knew. He'd heard all the excuses, but he wished he really knew. "He's just… he's having a hard time, I guess. There's no room for me, right now, y'know, and…" he moved to get to his feet again, embarrassed. "It's fine, you probably don't wanna hear this, anyway, and -"

"I do," she said quietly, and then hesitated for a moment to lean back across the bed, pulling something wearable from under her pillow. He couldn't tell what it was at first, but the motif printed on it was familiar - he used to have the same thing stickered to his nametag. Hundreds of tiny little rainbows. "Honestly, it's nice to meet someone I have this in common with…"

 _Oh._ "I - I didn't realise…"

"Well, me either, so I guess that's kind of even," she shrugged, with a tiny, flat laugh, and there was disappointment on her face, he could see it in the tight pull of the corner of her mouth when she smiled, but there was sympathy, too. She felt bad for him. It kind of made the whole thing feel worse - she was the one who'd been set up to be used, and yet she felt bad. It wasn't right and it didn't feel good.

"I'm honestly so sorry about this… I shouldn't have thought I could… y'know…" Wearily, he leaned down and picked his glasses up off the floor, pushing them back on to his nose. "I _wanted_ to want to…"

"It's okay, I guess… I figured it was probably too good to be true."

"No, but I mean - if things weren't the way they are, right now, or - or, y'know, if you lived closer to home for me, then we could maybe have gotten to know each other better… You seem really nice, and - and you're a very - I mean, y'know: you've got all the…uh," he cleared his throat and cracked his knuckles, self-consciously, "all the qualities I think I'd like, y'know? In a girl. Or a woman, I mean…"

"You 'think' you'd like?"

The back of his neck prickled with embarrassment, realising she knew what it meant, even if he didn't admit to it. "Um… yeah, I guess I'm still sort of working that out, y'know? I didn't spend a whole lot of time looking, after my junior year."

"Oh my God - would this have been…?" She trailed off, one hand over her mouth, aghast.

Patrick just nodded, as dignified as he could, in spite of the rising humiliation, like he was trapped in a submerging car, with it pouring in on top of him until he struggled for the last breath of dignity.

"I guess that picture looked kind of old… I mean, his hair's different and stuff, so…"

"It's…" He unstuck the velcro again with an audible scritch, and looked down at the smiling sixteen year old in the picture. He was on the old couch in the basement at Patrick's, one arm under his cheek as he looked up at Patrick over the side. "Almost two years old, maybe… it's from right before we started, um, y'know… dating." And he'd said it, now, confirmed it irretrievably, and it was tragic, honestly, but it was kind of nice to tell someone, and it felt kind of good to be a real person, a real bi person, talking to - he guessed - another actual bi person.

Pete definitely didn't count. Pete was as bi as Patrick's grandma was Catholic - in name and for show, but she never went to mass. Or confession, for that matter.

"But you guys broke up?" she asked, gently, and her hand was back on his arm, but it was soothing this time. A sympathetic rub of the shoulder, in spite of everything.

Reluctantly, he nodded, and then gave a little splutter of a laugh as he corrected himself, and the memory spasmed in his chest. "Well, no, he dumped me, actually… but he gets weird about people being into me - not that there are a whole bunch of them queuing up, or anything - and I guess the reason he was shitty with you is because of that."

Amber shrugged, pressing her palms into the edge of the mattress and looking down at her crossed ankles. "Maybe if he thinks someone _got you_ , then…"

"Well, here's the thing: _Pete_ thought that, too, but he had all night to say something and he didn't, so. I guess that's my answer." And the words, as blunt as they were, hurt even as he said them. It was very real, suddenly: he'd tried everything he could think of, and Joe still barely flinched. He got mad and he got jealous, but he couldn't get past this thing that was making them both so miserable.

Carefully, Amber's fingers edged from the bed to squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry…"

"No - no, don't be sorry, _I'm_ sorry. Way to kill the mood, huh?"

She laughed a little, pulling her hand back to tuck her hair back behind her ear again. "No more than telling me 'no, you shouldn't be doing this', I guess…"

"You're right - and I should go, or something…" He started go get to his feet again, but she followed quickly.

"You don't need to go - it's okay. I mean, you're staying, anyway, where else would you go?"

"I don't know… It just seems a little…"

"It's fine. It's really fine… I promise not to try to kiss you anymore," she offered with a puff of coy laughter as she picked up the clothing she'd pulled out from under her pillow and held it up. "I'll even wear my jammies, if you want to sleep here. And we could just talk, if you wanted… It seems kind of like you need to talk, a little bit…"

And Patrick nodded, stiffly, because maybe he did. Maybe he really, really did.

So, by the time the others clattered in the front door, he was stretched out under the blankets, gazing at Amber's ceiling while he told her the whole saga and she listened with her head tilted against his shoulder, her hair back in its braids and the fabric of her pyjamas soft against his arm. When she fell asleep, he kept on listening, sure he could hear the front door opening and closing in the dark, the cold draught from outside sneaking through the crack at the bottom of the bedroom door.

\---

"You gonna be okay?" Amber asked, as she watched him stuff his towel in his rucksack, still damp from the shower. She was still in her pyjamas.

"Yeah," Patrick said, nodding resolutely, because it was a new day and they'd get in the van and drive away from this whole experience. "Yeah, we'll be good, don't worry."

It was right about then that there was a knock at the door, and Kat's voice called through, "Hey, Ambs? Did you know they left?"

"What?" she replied, looking at Patrick, confused, and then moving to the window. "No, the van's right outside…?"

"Well, they're not downstairs…"

"They probably, um… they probably went to get breakfast, or something," Patrick told her, tightly. In reality, he had no fucking idea where they'd gone, but he didn't want her to know that. There was a heavy, lingering embarrassment about last night, weighing down his shoulders and he didn't want her to think his whole band were so disinterested that they'd forgotten him.

By the time he'd pulled on his cap and stuffed his wallet back in his pocket, they'd noticed some stirring outside the window. His heart had thumped extra hard when he saw Joe climbing out of the back and walking around to the front side of the van. It was kind of lame, really - he knew Joe would be there, but seeing him still sparked a little flare of excitement in his chest. But he was nervous, too, and hopeful. Maybe he'd feel things out, first, see if Pete's predictions had any value to them, and then come clean.

"Take my number," she said, scribbling it down on a scrap of paper. "Just in case you forgot something…"

"Oh, um… sure. Thanks. Thanks for everything, y'know? I'm really sorry it was kind of disappointing…"

She smiled as she leaned in to hug him goodbye at the door. "Maybe another time…"

Patrick's face flushed hot and he carefully pulled away, embarrassed and flattered, but nevertheless absolutely not about to call her to hook up sometime.

"Good luck with everything," she said. "If he deserves you, you'll work it out."

And he hoped that was true, as he walked back up to the van, catching Joe's gaze in the side mirror and smiling at him awkwardly - but Joe's eyes just fluttered closed, his head tucked against his hoodie in the corner by the window.

He waved to Amber, still standing in the doorway, as he climbed into the back, pulling the door shut behind himself and settling down next to Pete on a disarray of sleeping bags.

"Why are you all up up so early?" he asked, leaning back against the amps and pulling his rucksack on to his lap. "I thought you'd left without me…"

Nobody really said anything; Joe's headphones were in, so maybe he hadn't really heard, and Andy had started the van to pull out onto the street. Patrick turned his eyes to Pete, instead, and Pete wouldn't really look at him, he just shrugged and chewed at the edge of his fingernail, vacantly. He looked pale, Patrick realised. Tireder even than usual.

"You okay, dude?" he asked, looking around them - at Pete's obviously exhausted slump and the back of the other two's heads in the front. The radio was on, now, louder than necessary and blasting _Stupid Kid_ so he couldn't really hear what Pete mumbled back at him before he pulled the sleeping bag up over his knees and tried to go back to sleep.

By the time they got to their first rest stop, Patrick was itching to speak to Pete alone. What the fuck was going on? Why was everyone acting fucking weird? And more importantly, did he think it worked? Did Joe seem to care at all?

"I need a piss and some caffeine," Pete had announced, though, when Andy pulled them into a spot outside the gas station and hopped out. He didn't wait for Patrick to follow, and in fact he slammed the door and startled Joe awake in the front. He sat up and scanned around them, anxiously, breathing heavily until Patrick stood up and rubbed soothingly at his arm.

"Hey, it's okay, it's just Pete and Andy getting out. It's okay."

It stunned him, a little, when Joe jerked away from him. The movement was reflexive, a recoil from his touch and it occurred to him, suddenly, that he had no idea what had happened, after he left.

"Joe? Hey," he said gently, leaning on the seat to look at him, trying for the puppyish, nurture-me look he knew made Joe feel capable and needed. "Talk to me…"

But Joe just turned away from him again, pulling his arm a little further out of range where Patrick hesitantly reached for it, and it felt like his heart had stopped. He could feel himself getting hot, all over, a wave of panic sweeping through him. He didn't know how to judge the situation - Joe was pissed, obviously, but was he pissed because he was jealous, and this was all part of what Pete said would happen? Or was he just pissed because he was having a shitty day and sometimes he sulked about things, because that was just what Joe did?

"Okay," he said, in the end, because he should probably talk to Pete and find out what happened, before pushing the issue or deciding what to tell him, and because he was kind of hoping if he left him alone, Joe would be compelled to talk. "If… I mean, I can't go anywhere, so… if you change your mind..."

Joe didn't talk to him, though. He got out of the van and disappeared, slamming the door behind him as forcefully as he could, the shockwave sending a heavy, sinking feeling through Patrick's stomach.

"Stumph, get up front," Pete's voice called from driver's door, a few minutes later, and he did - obediently climbing over the seat to sit where Joe had been. It still felt warm from his body and it was weirdly comforting. He wrapped his hand over the leather edge of the seat just to feel it a little more keenly, until Pete tossed a packet of Reese's Pieces into his lap and hunched over the wheel, drumming at it. "So."

Patrick glanced at him sidelong and focused his energy on opening the packet in his hands. It was a meagre breakfast, but it was better than nothing. "So?"

"So… you manned up, dude. I'm kind of impressed, honestly, I thought you'd chicken out or something…"

"Um… yeah," Patrick nodded, awkwardly, because he wasn't sure he was ready to say to Pete, ' _Actually, I was too pathetic to do what you did for us a bunch of times before, because all I could think about was my ex-boyfriend who might not even love me, anymore._ ' He already knew what Pete thought of his feelings for Joe. He called him 'obsessed' and joked about how it'd be super hard to be in a band once Joe got a restraining order on him. He wasn't really in the mood to confess, yet. It was still too humiliating.

"Was it good, at least?"

He could feel the heat rising in his face again, and adjusted his glasses self-consciously. "It went about as well as I expected, y'know?" _Neither of us were satisfied and I wanted to cry._ "What happened with you guys? Did Joe, sort of…?" _Did he notice? Did he_ care _, like at all?_

"Ugh." Pete shrugged and shook his head, gazing off out onto the freeway for what seemed to be a dramatically long time before he said, "Well, I guess that like, he knows you're not gonna wait around for him to sort his shit out, now, kind of."

"He does?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's pretty obvious at the point when you're making out with someone else in a club and then you go home with them, right?"

"Right," Patrick said, trying to sound pensive and serious, not just eager for any detail that Pete might give him that indicated it had given Joe any sense of urgency about them working things out.

Neither of them said anything for a couple of minutes, and the hope was beginning to sprout hesitantly in Patrick's heart. He chewed on his candy, piece by piece, visualising the way Joe might come to him when he'd calmed down about it all and stopped sulking.

_It made me realise that, like, we could figure stuff out better together, basically… That you're kind of like the best thing in my life, and I don't want you to give up on us like I did…_

It was a nice thought, a soothing little fantasy, and he revelled in it alone until Pete started talking again.

"I feel like you should probably not say anything to him about it, yet."

"What?" he asked, blinking himself out of the imaginary backstage corner of the venue they were headed to that day.

"Don't like, try to talk to him about the whole thing, today. Let him sweat, or whatever, yeah? Just… it's better if you don't say anything."

"Why?"

"'Cause he had a tough night and he needs time to figure his shit out. You just nailed some girl, he's gonna need some space and he's gotta think it could happen again, right? It doesn't exactly work if you're sort of like, 'It was a one-off', because it's already done and he can't change that by getting back together with you…" Pete said, folding his arms over the wheel and resting his cheek on them to look at Patrick tiredly.

"Oh… I mean, I guess, yeah…"

"Trust me, man, today is not the day to try to bring this up. His head's all wrong for it, kind of. And for what it's worth, mine's not in a place to referee, either..."

Patrick nodded reluctantly and pulled his feet up to rest them on the dash. He'd sensed that, he supposed. He tugged off his hat and dropped his glasses in it on the seat beside him, so he could try to massage the tension out of his head a little, and watched blurrily as Joe began to make his way back across the forecourt, his hoodie pulled up over his head and zipped up to his chin; hands stuffed under his arms against the cold. He smiled, hoping Joe'd look at him, but he didn't - he just kept his chin down and headed direct to the back of the van with a bottle of water, and that was where he remained for the rest of the journey, curled up asleep with his discman on.

Patrick tried not to feel impatient about it. He wanted Joe to have his _Come to Jesus_ moment, and he wanted him to have it fucking _yesterday_ , because this was stressful. He didn't like lying, he wanted it off his chest, but he could really only do that when the ruse had served its purpose - otherwise the whole charade, the whole experience, was utterly futile.

"When's he gonna drive?" Pete asked, a couple of hours in, rubbing at his eyes with one hand while he tried to keep in his lane and Patrick clutched the handle on the side of his door as they veered a little off centre.

"Not today," Andy replied, curtly, and Patrick turned in his seat, surprised by the tone of Andy's voice.

In his sleep, Joe's lip was dimpled underneath, his fingers tangled at his own temple. It was one of the things he'd noticed, fondly, over the time they'd known each other: when it was longer than the buzz cut his mom used to give him in the summers, Joe comforted himself by pulling his own hair, absently. Not hard, just tight - the thick, dark curls spilling through his fingers. When they were together, he'd liked it when Patrick played with his hair, too - and Patrick had enjoyed it just as much. His own hair was best left to as little interference as possible, but Joe's was thick and stubborn and fun to touch, but it didn't seem fun right now. It seemed sad; troubled, even. Like he was having a bad dream.

It worried him, and it seemed like he wasn't the only one, but he couldn't quite figure out why.

"I can drive," he offered, because it was clear that Joe wasn't going to be in the mood to drive, anyway, and he wanted to do something helpful. Something that said, 'even if you're mad at me, I still care about you.'

"We're gonna be there in thirty minutes, it's not worth it, right now," Andy replied, and there was a coldness in his voice, now that it was directed at Patrick himself. He wanted to flinch, but he just turned away, instead, his stomach churning from the worry and lack of sustenance. Something wasn't being said, and the longer it went on, the more it felt like he should fucking know what.

He couldn't stop thinking about it, and it didn't feel like it made any more sense when Joe finally woke and looked at him with such reproach that he'd started to feel a frantic guilt burrowing under his skin. He got out of the van and went to find some place where he could sit and be by himself for a minute, get out of the suffocating atmosphere.

He found a wooden beer crate out the back of the venue and perched on it for a minute, trying to get his head together. He'd almost done it, last night. He'd had his first real sexual experience with a girl, and he'd made it stop because he really just wanted her to be Joe. He didn't know what that meant for him - if it was, as he told himself, A Joe Thing, or if there was something more to be said about who he was as a person… She'd been pretty, though - he felt for sure that in other circumstances he would've been very excited to at least get to see her boobs - and there had definitely been noticeable interest on his part, he just… Couldn't. He couldn't because really he just wanted Joe. He wanted his boyfriend back and he wanted to feel the way it felt when Joe would wrap his arms almost all the way around him from both sides and drop his chin on the top of Patrick's head, just to tease him that he was taller. He wanted to feel loved, again, not just to get off with someone who happened to be there.

And that really, really mattered to him.

Andy turned the corner of the alley a few minutes after he found his little, peaceful spot and stopped in front of him expectantly. Patrick didn't look up. He could sense something in Andy's body language that told him he was about to get a whole new one ripped for him and Andy was still a little bit intimidating, in his own way. He was so certain of his own righteousness on whatever cause he was fighting, that he never saw fit to take prisoners.

He was also starkly reminded of a promise he'd made in an alley somewhere in the South - a promise not to throw away what they had. He wanted to say, _It's not my fault_ , or something - point out that he hadn't wanted to break up, that he'd tried to fight for it and it was Joe who wouldn't.

"Was it worth it?"

"No," Patrick said, and there was nothing about that statement to make it untrue, but it caught in his throat a little; came out as a croak. Maybe if he lost his voice, they could just go home and put them all out of the misery of this tour...

"You don't know, do you? Pete didn't tell you."

Patrick frowned and finally lifted his eyes to Andy's in surprise, blinking. "Tell me what?"

There was exasperation in the way Andy moved on the spot, scowling at the sky. "Last night was basically hell for all of us, alright? Sure, he doesn't have a right to tell you what to do, and that's his fault, but games like this don't help. What they do, is leave a kid who's struggling to struggle some more. He doesn't need this bullshit, right now, so leave him alone, okay? Because next time he decides to go AWOL, maybe Pete won't find him."

"Huh? What - ? When did he go AWOL?!" Patrick asked, suddenly remembering the sound of doors opening in Amber's house in the middle of the night. "Where did he even…?"

But Andy didn't seem to have much more to say on the subject, because he crunched off in the melting snow, back around the corner towards the street, yelling over his shoulder as he went. "Just stop dicking around, okay? It's just gonna make it worse."

Patrick hadn't stayed there; as soon as Andy's footsteps were gone, he found his way into the venue and tracked Pete down where he was talking to the promoter in the bar. Patrick didn't fucking care, though, he grabbed him by the elbow and pulled. "I need to talk to you."

"Dude, can you give me a sec, real quick? I'm busy…" Pete said, not really looking at him.

"Not really, no. Not really."

"I need to get back on with stuff, anyway," the guy said, eyeing them dubiously and heading for the door. "9.15, okay?"

As soon as they were alone, Patrick yanked Pete's arm and pushed him behind the corner of the stage. "What's going on?" he demanded. "Don't bullshit me, Pete, what happened?"

Pete closed his eyes like he just didn't have the energy for this conversation, and sighed. "I don't know that like, I should _tell you_ or whatever…"

" _What happened_? Andy said Joe went AWOL, or something, so what the fuck happened? Is he okay?"

"No, he's not 'okay'!" Pete snapped, like Patrick was kind of stupid for even asking. "He's a fucking mess, honestly, and last night was so fucked up he went out and tried to sleep in the van, but that basically meant he was gonna freeze to death, so I came out there to just like, look out for him and try to keep him warm or something, then Hurley came out, too, and it was fucking miserable, okay? It was fucked up. But you know what? It kind of worked, so you got what you wanted, man - he noticed."

Patrick gaped at him, unable to believe the words had come out of his mouth, his whole brain seemingly slowed by the effort of maintaining the intensity that his heart was throbbing at in his chest and ears. "I got what _I_ wanted? I didn't - I didn't want to do that, I didn't want to upset him like that -"

"You wanted him to realise you're not gonna stick around waiting, right? Well, he knows now, kind of. It was fucking intense, okay, but he knows."

"I didn't - is he really upset, dude, because - ?" All the air in Patrick's chest seemed to have been replaced by acid and it hurt to even breathe.

"Of course he's fucking upset, man!" Pete hissed through his teeth, clutching both of Patrick's arms like he wanted to shake him. "What did you think was gonna happen? You picked up a girl in front of him and took her home. He's upset because it fucking hurts to see the person you think you've got dibs on fucking someone else - the whole point was that he was supposed to realise it, right? And it was kind of fucking gross for everyone that our cute, little Cookie Jar was upstairs, doing whatever…"

Patrick's heart was in his mouth and he tried to find something to say - to remind him that this was Pete's fucking idea, or tell him he hadn't really been doing _anything_ upstairs - but he just couldn't. The weight of what they all thought he'd done, and the implications of it, were too heavy.

Pete watched him, could see him suffering, maybe, because he sighed again and mustered an unconvincing grin as he said, "But I'm proud of you. You pulled your weight for a change, and that's admirable, or whatever. And I mean, the collateral damage was kind of the point, wasn't it? You so actually kind of owe me for not letting your little sad sack die of hypothermia, though, by the way… Don't make it a waste of time by quitting on this thing now, yeah?"

He tried really hard to take Pete's advice, because he didn't know what else to do. He sat in some crappy diner, drinking coffee because it was hot and he hadn't really been able to stand the greasy mess he'd ordered, until it was time to bring in their stuff for soundcheck. He didn't know where Andy was, now,  but he knew Joe was in the van, cocooned in his sleeping bag, not wanting to face the world. He could've used that kind of time himself, but instead he was sitting in a booth at the back with Pete huddled against him, whispering about how he couldn't let Joe sulking ruin The Plan.

"He's a fucking baby at the best of times, right? Like, I love Dick and Cathie, but those apron strings are like bungee ropes… He doesn't know how to be adult, like you kind of do, he just pouts, kind of."

"But if he's upset already, maybe that's enough, y'know - maybe that's the whole point made, and we can just…"

"No! Because you know what that does, man? That says, 'If you act like your world is over 'cause I did something you don't like, I'm gonna grovel until you forgive me', kind of. It's fucked up. Don't do that, it's a shitty precedent to set."

Poking at his egg and hash browns, Patrick nodded, because he supposed Pete had a point. Joe wasn't a deliberately manipulative person and he knew Pete wasn't totally trying to say that, either, but he was needy and prone to sulking when he couldn't manage what was happening in his life.

The saddest thing was that he was pretty sure that was how they got here - that he was in a bad place, sure, but he was mostly finding it hard to cope with things requiring some effort. The harder option was talking shit through, and as smart and articulate as Joe was, he just didn't have the words in him or the nerve to say them. It had been the same when it came to the decision about moving in with Pete and it had been the same all that time ago, before they first started dating and he took what he thought Pete wanted over what Patrick might want for himself.

Maybe it was down to Patrick to make the conversation happen. Maybe it was down to Patrick to say, _'We've gotta try again, because this is making us both unhappy and I love you and I want to believe you still love me, too - even if you won't show it, right now…'_

Even if Pete and Andy didn't really get it, maybe he should just talk to him… Maybe it was the only way he was going to get through the show, that night.

He made a plan to catch him alone while they were loading in, when they couldn't all be at the van at once, if the others didn't tag team chaperoning them. If he could catch him and get him to talk a little - to even just tell him what happened (or what hadn't), then maybe they could get past this whole thing. They'd wait for Patrick's birthday and then re-evaluate, like they said.

The first time he got to see Joe again, that afternoon, he was climbing out of his sleeping bag, looking like his arms and legs were too heavy for him to easily lift.

The optimism he'd tried to rally in himself quickly began to sink into worry. Joe looked kind of awful. His eyes were still raw and Patrick wondered, suddenly, if he'd actually been crying. If that was why - that he wasn't just tired, or having problems with his contact lenses, but that this was why he'd hidden away. His heart lurched horribly at the thought and he had to take a long, steadying breath to keep himself together. _I'm so sorry, Bambi..._

He stood awkwardly at the door, watching him hand Pete and Andy an amp, and then push some guitar cases in his direction. His fingers caught against Joe's as he thrust the handles into his hands and it gave him hot pins and needles all through his arms. He wanted to climb in and pull the doors closed, tug him down to sit on the wheel arch and talk to him, like they used to. Like they had when things hadn't been going well before…

But Joe just turned away, like he couldn't even bear to look at him and the pins and needles turned to a single knife twisting in his chest.

"Joe?" he tried, and it even _sounded_ like he was begging for his attention. "I… tonight, can we…?"

He trailed off as Joe turned back, hoping that he'd agree - that he'd know what Patrick wanted to say - but he just stared down at him with an air of steady contempt, never actually meeting his eye. Challenging him to push the issue, stretching the whole situation out between them, a dark and terrifying forest filled with bear traps and ravines that he stood little to no chance of surviving.

"I… I guess not," he mumbled, backing away and heading into the venue. By the time he got to the front of the venue and shoved the cases onto the stage, he was having palpitations.

Pete was hopping down as he stood there, and he almost walked past until he saw the look on Patrick's face, slipping a little on the recently washed floor as he abruptly stopped in his tracks.

"Cookie Jar, you doing okay?" he asked, leaning both of his elbows on the stage and looking at him, concerned. "What's going on?"

He just shook his head, at first, because he didn't really know, for sure. He just knew that yesterday Joe had let Patrick hold his hand and told him he didn't want to hurt him and he didn't want him to be with anyone else, but that they couldn't be together. And he hadn't even managed an 'I love you' when it was all Patrick would have needed. He'd thought that maybe that was the reality of the situation - that, truth be told, Joe's interest in him had become more of a habit than a feeling; less of a legitimate feeling than Patrick's were for him. He'd even said how he couldn't stop him doing what they both knew he had to, but since then - since Patrick had walked out of the van - things had changed and Joe could barely even look at him. He'd expected Joe to be mad about it, on some level, but this didn't feel like that. It felt deeper than that - harsher - like tectonic plates pulling apart and all the boiling magma seeping through the cracks.

"C'mon, Cookie, what's the matter?" Pete pressed, sliding an arm around him and leaning in for Patrick to whisper, if he wanted.

"This -" he started, feeling the anxiety bubbling below his collarbone, his fingers tightening on the handles of the cases where he was letting them anchor him to the stage, "this didn't work out right, did it? It just… it made it worse."

Pete's arm loosened at his shoulder and pulled back, his hand lightly clasping the back of Patrick's neck, instead. "Not totally," he said, softly, looking at him with sad, wide eyes, pitying Patrick or trying to soften what he was going to say. "I mean, I wasn't gonna say anything, because… I guess we didn't want you to feel bad, but you let him watch, the whole night and then…" He took a deep breath and huffed it out slowly, like a mechanic about to give a bad prognosis. "We talked about calling his parents while he was asleep, kind of. Me and Andy, I mean… It fucking sucked. Not that we told him, or anything, but… that's why you need to give him space, man. You hurt him like, a lot. More than I even thought, you know? He seemed kind of over you, but then… maybe it's more like the whole betrayal thing, or whatever? I don't know."

"But it wasn't - I didn't even - "

"I know you weren't into it, _at first_ , man, but you came round and he _saw_ that and even if you were like, 'Oh, but it meant nothing' and stuff, I think it's just gonna make him mad. It's too, like… I mean, I've been on the receiving end of that one, and it almost fucking sucks more than the idea that they did it, you know? Like, if it didn't mean anything, _why_ , kind of? I mean, obviously I know why, but… He's not gonna wanna hear that, right now."

He could hardly even find the air to breathe, let alone speak. He just stood there, his pulse rushing in his ears and it felt like Pete was talking to him from the end of a tunnel.

He had to fix this. He had to fix this _now_ , but he didn't know what the fuck to do - of course Pete was right, although he didn't know how much. If he went to Joe now and said, 'Look, I didn't even do it,' would Joe even believe him? Would _he_ believe him, in Joe's shoes? No. No, he probably wouldn't.

He didn't know what the fuck he was supposed to do.

"Just wait in here, yeah?" Pete's voice said, close to his ear again, patting him soothingly on the chest. "It's like Andy said, give him space, right now. We'll bring stuff in. It's only gonna make him even more mad if you keep smothering him, right?"

And then Pete was gone again, and he was standing alone.

He was almost on autopilot as he set up the stage, the others ferrying equipment back and forth so he didn't have to go back out there. So that Joe didn't have to see him. By the time Joe finally appeared again, for soundcheck, Patrick was too afraid of doing more damage to even look his way. He kept his head down, fingers shaking on the strings so he held too tight and forgot his place.

It didn't get any easier when they took to the stage for their set, either. He stood there, looking at Joe with his hand raised, waiting and waiting for that brief moment of contact, and for a moment he really thought it wasn't coming - that Joe would leave him hanging there like an idiot, in front of everyone, all the guys standing in the shadowy spaces outside of the stage lights.

 _Please,_ he begged in his head, watching him desperately, trying to will him to read his mind. _Please, please don't… I need this, Bambi, please…_

Just as he was about to pull his hand away, wanting to be sick, Joe gave a hard, deliberate sigh and patted his hand to Patrick's as lightly as he could manage while still making contact, and then he turned away without even catching his gaze. Somehow, that made it worse.

They'd had disastrous shows, in the past. They'd broken ceilings and rigs and been kicked out and chased by fascists, but this was, for Patrick, by the far the worst. He stumbled over the words because he couldn't concentrate and Joe was a waxwork beside him, lifeless and radiating so much misery that Patrick was almost choking on it, until his own words wouldn't come out of his mouth, anymore - not without the threat of a torrent to accompany them - so he just gave up. He dropped his head to the mic and stopped singing altogether, hearing Pete pressing on beside him.

He'd thought, until that point, that the couple of days after Joe broke up with him were the worst time of his life. He'd been so shocked and hurt and felt so helplessly abandoned, unable to really believe it was happening - but this was worse. This was worse because he was trapped in a lie that he was afraid to confess the truth of, and he had to watch it crushing Joe across the back of the van, wanting desperately to tell him he hadn't done it, but knowing that it was possible that the truth would hurt just as much. Or more. And with the truth, came the fact that he hadn't been able to fulfil his responsibilities to the band, and he'd lied about that by omission, too. He'd let Pete and Andy think he'd done it and Pete was _proud of him_ , and he'd let Joe think he'd done it and devastated him, and wasn't that in itself bad enough? Wasn't it shitty enough of him that he'd used Joe's own insecurities against him, like that, without him finding out he was too pathetic to go through with it, anyway?

No, this was purgatory on his way to Hell. This was being forced to watch Joe sinking into some kind of dissociative state while Patrick was forced to get up on stage each night to sing words that made him want to cry more than the incidents that inspired them - because they meant something new, now. It didn't matter what they'd been written about, at the time, when he sang them now, they were all about Joe. When they got to the venue on the Sunday, Pete took a thick, blue Sharpie and crossed through _Pretty in Punk_ on everyone's setlists. He didn't thank him aloud, he just rested his forehead on his shoulder in the green room and accepted the hug he offered.

"One more show, Cookie," he said. "Just one more…"

He'd nodded and pulled away, because he may have done him a kindness tonight, but Pete had pissed him off, that day, refusing to turn _Everlong_ off the van stereo, even though he knew what it meant. He'd wanted nearly every detail of that day, after it happened, and Patrick had scoffed at him and called him a perv, but he'd shared that and it almost felt like he couldn't have shared any more intimate detail, now.

On the journey, though, trapped in the tiny, cramped space without much light on the dull winter days, he thought and he thought and he regretted everything. He regretted the conversation that had started this whole thing. He regretted asking Pete about it. He regretted listening to Pete's advice. He regretted telling Joe he was going to do it. And he regretted going anywhere near Amber at all.

She was a sweet girl, she wasn't the problem, but she was at the epicentre of his whole life falling apart and he couldn't help wishing she'd never existed.

It was during those long hours, though, driving from one venue to the next, that he realised that maybe she could fix this. That maybe he was ready to sacrifice Pete's respect and Andy's patience if it was going to stop Joe looking like this. Maybe it was worth the risk that Joe would never even look at him again to try to cure that hurt in some small way. And maybe that was what she could do. Maybe he needed to hear it from her - the only person who knew the truth and didn't have something to gain by telling him a lie.

And that was why he stopped Pete again, before they left the venue - while he changed his shirt in the green room after another hollow set that had left Patrick shaking - fumbling with the slip of paper he'd pulled from his wallet, and asked, "Hey, Pete, can I borrow your phone?"

But his timing, standing there in the hall as he dialled her number, couldn't have been worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Fall Out Boy's _Pretty In Punk_.  
> Quote from Dream State's _In This Hell_.


End file.
